


mosaic thoughts

by hopeless_hope



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Dad!Tony, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Mental Health Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Platonic Cuddling, Precious Peter Parker, Stress Relief, This is such a mess tbh, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, Worried Tony Stark, bad metaphors, oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 14:30:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16874640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_hope/pseuds/hopeless_hope
Summary: Tony watches, face tight with concern, as Peter swallows thickly. The kid’s hands twitch irritably where they rest on his thighs, and Tony’s eyebrows fly up at the increasingly open display of anxiety.“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Tony prompts gently.Peter shakes his head fiercely again, face beginning to crumple as tears start to spill down his cheeks. Tony quickly gets up and kneels in front of him.“Easy, kid. It’s okay, it’s okay. Just take some deep breaths and you can tell me what’s wrong.”Peter makes another sound before finally choking out, “I can’t - I can’t!”orAnxiety steals Peter's colors, but Tony's there to bring them back.





	mosaic thoughts

It’s two in the morning when Tony gets the text. He’s holed up in his lab, as usual, and music plays low in the background. The vibrations soothe him, and exhaustion is just beginning to tug at his eyelids when he hears his phone go off from across the room.

Tony smiles fondly as DUM-E whirs to life, scurrying to grab his phone for him. The bot clumsily picks it up and Tony rolls his eyes when the phone nearly gets flung across the room.

“Get over here, you invalid,” Tony teases, and DUM-E chirps in what could only be a sassy response. Like creator, like bot.

He snags the phone and swipes the screen, surprised to see a notification for a message from Peter. Tony hasn’t heard from Peter much lately. Though the kid used to come by a couple times a week to work alongside Tony in the lab, they’d decided to put it on hold until Peter’s exam season was over.

There’s only one word.

_Mr. Stark?_

Tony’s quick to type back, curious.

_What’s up, kid? Shouldn’t you be cramming for your physics exam?_

The reply is almost immediate.  _No. Tomorrow’s British Lit. There’s only so much you can study for that._

Tony smiles a little. He knows Peter’s never been a fan of that class. He’s a STEM kid, through and through. His smile fades, though, when he realizes the kid still has yet to answer his questions.

Ever the impatient man, Tony forgoes texting again in favor of dialing the boy’s number. After the fourth ring, Tony frowns. He knows the kid has his phone on standby. So why isn’t he picking up?

Just when he thinks he’s going to get put to voicemail, the line clicks and Peter’s voice comes through.

“Oh, uh, hi, Mr. Stark!” Peter greets nervously, and Tony tenses up when he hears the kid’s breath hitch ever so slightly. “What’s up?”

“That’s what I was just asking you,” Tony says pointedly, silently pulling up the teen’s vitals. He’s not hurt - he’s not even in the suit, but the watch he gave the kid shows that his heart rate is elevated.

“Oh,” is all Peter says, sounding a little breathless, and Tony frowns in concern. Realizing that Peter’s not going to offer up any additional information, he lets out a quick sigh and takes ahold of the conversation.

“How are exams going, kid?” he asks casually, hoping the kid will calm down some. If anything, that makes it worse, and he watches in real time as Peter’s heart rate spikes suddenly. Alarmed, Tony turns on his heel, silently calling a suit to be on standby.

“They’re, uh, you know. Exams. Good?” Peter says, letting out a short burst of air. “Aced chem. I-I don’t - God, I can’t wait for them to be over,” he stutters, and Tony makes a split decision.

He quietly waves to his suit, letting it encase him as he smoothly transfers the call to the interior of suit and leisurely heads out in the direction of Queens.

“I bet. I never did like exams. Thank god I skipped most of high school,” Tony says, hoping to keep the conversation going. He thinks, belatedly, that rubbing the fact in Peter’s face might not have been the best way to go, but - hell, Tony was never good at this shit anyway.

(That doesn’t mean he won’t try.)

Peter let’s out a strained laugh. “Lucky you,” he says, but the teasing jab falls flat and Tony puts a little more energy into the thrusters, ready to look the kid in the eye and figure out what the hell is wrong.

“Eh, I’d beg to differ,” Tony counters, just trying to keep the conversation going, but Peter just hums absentmindedly, and Tony has to resist the urge to just demand why the kid had texted him in the first place.

They lapse into silence after that, the only audible sound through the line being Peter’s harsh breathing. Tony nearly flinches in surprise when he hears a methodical, muted scraping sound. It’s not loud, and something tells him that it’s not dangerous, but it surprises him.

When the building comes into view, Tony asks, “May asleep?”

The sound pauses briefly, before picking up again. “Work,” Peter says shortly, and Tony shakes his head to himself. He’d happily buy the two of them a whole damn mansion so May wouldn’t have to pull such late shifts, but he knows they’d never accept that kind of money from him.

Tony lands and retracts the suit, making his way through the now-familiar building. He crinkles his nose at the musty smell and less-than-perfect conditions of the place, but he knows that for the Parkers, it’s home. He stops outside Peter’s apartment door.

“Gotcha. That means you can come let me in,” Tony says, offering no explanation. The methodical sound stops again, accompanied by a light, wooden thud.

“ _What?_ ” Peter nearly yelps, surprised.

“You heard me. Come let me in,” Tony demands lightly, and he hears fast footsteps headed towards him before the door swings open suddenly, revealing Peter in  _Star Wars_  pajama pants and a loose  _Star Trek_  t-shirt.

Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “Isn’t that sort of a conflict of interests?” he asks, gesturing to the clothing.

Peter swallows, evidently still trying to get over his shock.

“Not really? I’m allowed to love them both,” he says defensively, and Tony appraises the kid as he steps into the small apartment.

The kid’s a mess. Everything about him seems to be vibrating with anxiety, and his fingers twitch and tap nervously as he watches his mentor with bruised, tired eyes.

When Tony doesn’t say anything, Peter blurts, “Why are you here?” and immediately winces at the question.

Tony, however, doesn’t take any offense and just waves off the apology he knows is about to fall from Peter’s lips, and he fixes the kid with an intense stare.

“Come on, let’s go to your room,” Tony says instead of answering. “I know being away from school work gives you separation anxiety,” he teases lightly, and Peter’s face burns red as he leads the way to his room.

“I wasn’t - I wasn’t even working on school stuff,” Peter mumbles, and as they walk in, Tony looks over at Peter’s desk in surprise.

Scattered all over it are various colored pencils and sheets of plain printer paper. Some of the pieces, Tony notes, are filled with abstract shapes of different colors, some overlapping and crashing into each other.

Suddenly, the sound Tony had heard over the phone makes sense. The kid was  _coloring_. Seeing Tony’s gaze, Peter rushes to clean up the mess on the desk, almost frantically swiping the papers out of view, as if he was doing a criminal act.

Tony calmly reaches an arm out to stop him. “It’s fine, Peter. You don’t have to clean up just because I’m here.” Peter freezes, looking unsure, and Tony gestures to the desk chair.

“Have at it, kid,” he says, and Peter sits where he’d been coloring before, but makes no move to pull the papers back out from where he shoved them under some textbooks.

Tony studies the young vigilante, noting his tense posture and averted eyes. Making another split decision, he grabs a few pencils and a textbook and sits on the floor.

“Hey, pass me a clean sheet of paper, will you?” he asks, watching as the surprised kid reaches for a sheet and passes it over. Tony places it on top of the textbook to bear down on and idly picks out a dark blue pencil.

Feeling Peter’s eyes on him, he begins sketching lightly and starts to talk. “Did you know that I had a tablet specially made for Bruce so he could color? We tried complex coloring books, but whenever the Other Guy wanted to make an appearance, he’d end up crumpling and tearing through the pages,” Tony explains, putting down the blue and reaching for a red.

Peter is completely still now, barely breathing as he watches the billionaire color while sitting on his small bedroom floor.

“So we had to come up with an alternative solution. See, Bruce really likes coloring. Finds it relaxing, and it especially helps him calm down and prevent unwanted Hulk appearances. He shattered the first three tablets we gave him, until finally we managed to make a glass that was Hulk-proof. We have thousands of sheets downloaded and every color imaginable. It’s pretty great, if I say so myself, which I do,” Tony smiles, looking up at the kid.

Peter’s eyes are a unfocused, not really looking at Tony, but Tony can tell from the way the kid’s head is tilted in his direction that he’s listening.

“Now me?” he continues. “I’m more of a sketcher. Always have been. Blueprints, doodles - you name it. I’m no huge artist or anything, but there’s something about the feel of a pencil that never gets old.”

Tony grabs a black pencil out of the pile, glancing discreetly at the young hero. Peter’s hands are starting to twitch now, restless energy thrumming through the kid, and Peter makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat.

It makes Tony’s blood freeze.

“Kid?” he asks, uncharacteristically gentle.

Peter shakes his hand almost frantically, pressing his lips tightly together to keep anything else from escaping. Tony sets the paper and pencils aside, full focus on the clearly distressed kid in front of him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Tony says soothingly. “It’s just us here. I won’t judge you, I promise. But you gotta talk to me so I know how to help.”

He watches, face tight with concern, as Peter swallows thickly. The kid’s hands twitch irritably where they rest on his thighs, and Tony’s eyebrows fly up at the increasingly open display of anxiety.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Tony prompts gently.

Peter shakes his head fiercely again, face beginning to crumple as tears start to spill down his cheeks. Tony quickly gets up and kneels in front of him.

“Easy, kid. It’s okay, it’s okay. Just take some deep breaths and you can tell me what’s wrong.”

Peter makes another sound before finally choking out, “I can’t - I  _can’t_!”

Tony can’t help the alarm that races through him, but he stays calm and gently places his hands over Peter’s shaking ones.

“Can’t what, Pete?” he asks, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. But God, he just wants to help his kid.

Peter groans in frustration and frees his hands from Tony’s, fingers scrambling to tug a sheet of colorful paper out from under his books. He shoves it into Tony’s hands.

“It didn’t come out the way you wanted?” Tony asks, confused. “That’s okay, you can just try it again.”

“No,” Peter bites out, swiping angrily at the tears. “It’s not - it’s not that. It’s - it’s my head.”

Tony looks up at him, well and truly lost.

“Peter, I don’t understand,” he admits, feeling helpless and way out of his depth with this.

The kid’s face tightens and Tony can see him struggling to find the right words.

“I don’t - I don’t know how to explain it. I want my brain to be like that,” he says, pointing at the paper, and Tony studies it closely, trying to see some hidden picture. But all that’s there are sharp angles and colorful, abstract shapes.

Evidently seeing Tony’s confusion, Peter snatches the paper back and tries again. “I hate exams. I hate. I hate feeling like this. People make me feel like this too, sometimes.”

Tony tilts his head in consideration. “They make you feel like this?” he asks, pointing towards the vibrant sheet.

Peter shakes his head and quickly grabs another sheet of paper. “I-I’m sorry. I’m not making sense,” he apologizes as he reaches for a black pencil.

“It’s okay, buddy. Just take your time,” Tony soothes and watches as Peter quickly draws a big spiral on the page. When he’s finished, he shows Tony.

“That’s how I feel sometimes. That’s how anxiety feels,” he explains, and it’s the first clear thing he’s said in awhile.

He turns the sheet over to the blank side. “And when - when I’m not nervous or scared I’m - I’m just this. Nothing. I’m just this stupid white slab of nothing. But that’s - I hate being the blank slab, but the only other thing I know how to be is this,” he says, turning the sheet back to the spiral.

Tony watches and listens intently, trying to understand. “Why is the white slab bad? This might sound stupid, but can you maybe just try to let yourself be the white slab without judging it?”

Peter shakes his head again. “No,” he says insistently. “I can’t be blank because if I’m blank then I’m nothing and I can’t be nothing. Because when I’m nothing, I can’t do things. I can’t - I can’t be productive. But the only other thing I know how to be is the spiral, but I hate the spiral, Tony. I get stuck in it.”

He picks up the colorful sheet again. “I want - this is what I want to be. I want colors. I want to be a mosaic. I want thoughts and feelings that aren’t black spirals to come together and fill the space of the white.” He sighs, running stressed hands through his curls. “I’m sorry, I can’t explain this right.”

But Tony’s face relaxes as understanding finally rushes through him.

“Oh, I see. Right now you feel like you’re being defined as being either in a state of anxiety or not being in it, but it’s binary and doesn’t leave room for other stuff, right?”

Peter nearly slumps with relief, because  _finally, someone gets it_. He nods vigorously, feeling close to tears again, but Tony must see this, because he gently reaches out and tugs the kid forward, wrapping secure arms around him.

He relaxes in the firm hold, spiral unwinding from where it’d been wrapped around his throat, choking him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into Tony’s shoulder. “I - it took me all of that to say what you were able to sum up in a single sentence.”

Tony laughs softly, hand finding its way to Peter’s hair, running it through the soft strands. “Don’t apologize, kid. You’re in it right now, so it’s harder for you to explain. I get it.”

Peter nods, muscles finally relaxing and exhaustion starting to creep in. Tony carefully drags them over to the kid’s bed, tucking the blankets around him tenderly.

“Go to sleep, bud. It’s going to be okay now. I’m proud of you.”

Peter blinks up at him tiredly. “Thank you, Tony,” he says softly, and Tony ruffles his hair affectionately.

“Any time, kid. Now sleep. And tomorrow, we’ll figure out how to get your colors back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. This one is super weird and wasn't something I even planned to write. I know I say this a lot, but I don't expect anyone to like this odd piece of writing. I have really bad test anxiety, as well as social anxiety, and I haven't been handling it well with finals because I'm pathetic lmao.
> 
> A lot of this was taken directly from a conversation I had with my friend, so sorry if Tony seems out of character. I'm also not used to writing from Tony's POV, but if I had tried to write Peter's, I would have gotten stuck in his head the same way I get stuck in mine.
> 
> But please feel free to leave a comment or kudos - it'd mean a lot. Or come chat with me on tumblr @the-great-escapism. I'd love to hear from you guys!


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